Epilogue

EPILOGUE

F or her and Tristan's first foray into Vauxhall Gardens, and their attempt at maintaining propriety now that they were truly engaged—again—both her parents and Aunt Nadia and Uncle James chaperoned them. Savannah didn't know whether to laugh at the absurdity of both couples in a chaperoning position or scowl over the fact that they seemed intent on maintaining propriety.

For the first time ever.

A beautiful, star-filled night twinkled overhead, with only a bare breeze off the Thames. The warm June day had turned into a much cooler evening, but Savannah didn't care. Tonight was perfect, with its vast array of stars shining in contrast with the thousand lanterns illuminating the gardens.

A perfect atmosphere for her first real, respectable outing with Tristan. She didn't count the theater, though Savannah supposed she ought. Still, that had been when they'd pretended to have reconciled. This, this felt different. Real.

They hadn't ever courted previously; it was more like they'd drifted together, enjoying whatever life offered. An unorthodox courtship, perhaps. Until tonight, they'd never enjoyed a proper one. Even with eagle-eyed chaperones, it was lovely.

"Thank you." She smiled up at Tristan as he helped her from the boat that took them across the Thames. She seriously debated sneaking off into the privacy of the gardens.

"Would you care to visit the pavilions first?" he asked, his head close to hers despite everyone watching. In the cool evening, his voice brushed warm and promising over her cheek. "Or the buffet?"

"The pavilions," she said, not hungry for whatever meager offerings the gardens provided.

For Tristan? Yes. For a chance encounter with him in the darkened hedges? She'd definitely try to arrange that despite his promise to see things remained respectable.

Smiling at her scandalous thoughts amid their very serious attempt at decorum, Savannah rested her hand on Tristan's arm.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her gloved fingers. "Once the fireworks begin, let's sneak away into the hedgerow."

"What happened to dignity and no more scandals?" She grinned mischievously up at him.

"I changed my mind," he growled.

"You read my mind." She laughed freely. She had everything she wanted.

"We can still elope." He watched her seriously.

"Ah, Miss Savannah." Lord Shilby's voice cut through whatever else Tristan was going to say.

Tristan cursed under his breath at the intrusion. She noticed that Tristan didn't drop her hand nor move to a more respectable distance. A quick look showed her parents and aunt and uncle waiting along the rows of seating for the later fireworks.

"Lord Shilby. Mr. Shilby." She offered a brief curtsy. "I had not expected to see you this evening." She tilted her head, her smile widening. "Though I suppose I should have."

"I often enjoy the gardens, my dear," Lord Shilby said, glancing around the crowd.

Beside her, Tristan stiffened at the familiarity, though he didn't utter a disparaging word.

"They're a quiet place to enjoy a bit of privacy," Mr. Shilby agreed in that same bland tone Savannah expected of him. The one she remembered from the few times they'd been introduced. Not the strong, hard, confident tone from earlier today. The younger Shilby offered a quick, wicked grin that did not befit the dandy he portrayed. "Do you know who the men were?" he asked.

"No. I planned on paying a visit to the magistrate in the morning." Tristan didn't look at her, but she knew they thought the same thing: they'd had more important things on their mind. Like ravishing kisses in the middle of the street.

Dem, Robbie, and a couple others had watched over the bound-and-gagged men while Dem proudly proclaimed the men who attacked their women had been captured—that justice would be served. Savannah remembered Dem's speech about patrolling themselves, and Savannah had assumed the magistrate had arrived and had some of the Bow Street Runners take the men away.

"Lord Davon, heir to the Marquess of Balrath, and Mr. Mooreland, third son of the Earl of Ainwick," Mr. Shilby said.

Savannah's anger burned through her. These were wealthy men, their titles old and distinguished. That was why they had claimed nothing would come of any arrest.

"They wanted for naught," Savannah seethed. "Anything they wished; they could've easily bought. Do you know why they committed the murders? A wager, the so-called thrill of murdering an innocent woman?"

"They didn't say, I'm afraid."

Tristan's hands curled into fists. "Did the magistrate release them?"

"Not as yet," Mr. Shilby promised. "Though I'm certain it's only a matter of time."

"What happens then?" Savannah demanded, fury coloring her words.

"I'll bear witness," Tristan promised. "I won't let them slither away from their crimes."

Shilby shifted, and the dandy's bland voice disappeared. "I promise you, Miss Savannah, they might be released, but they won't get away with murder."

"How can you guarantee that?" Savannah demanded, but she kept her voice low, so as not to be overheard. "Will you also bear witness for those women?"

She looked from Lord Shilby, mouth set and determined, to Mr. Shilby. There she saw the hard determination of a warrior. Not the layabout heir to a barony from King Edward III's time.

"I don't make promises I can't keep."

His words about finding his parents' murderer echoed through her, and Savannah believed him. His set face, his precise words, belied his stance, the loose-limbed look of a man with naught better to do than spend his days sleeping and his nights socializing with the prettiest of women, drinking the most expensive wine.

"Have you heard of a Mr. Edward Worth?" Mr. Shilby asked, his voice returning to that of the dandy. Lord Shilby snorted, and even in the lantern light flickering over the lawn, she saw him roll his eyes.

"He has part ownership in Sharpe Imports," Savannah offered. "I believe he's engaged to Mr. Sharpe's eldest daughter, Ivy. I also believe Sharpe is in financial straits," she said slowly. Tristan leaned in, too. "Worth has investments in a great many businesses along the wharves. You should speak with my father and Mrs. St. Clair about it."

"His business investments are all more than a little fishy." Shilby shook his head. "Have you heard anything about his connection to the gaming hells?"

"You should ask Dem about that," Tristan offered. "I never frequent them, but he'll know every person who sets foot in one."

"Dem," Shilby repeated slowly. "The man from earlier who claims to control Denmark Street."

"If you want answers, it's best you find the source," Tristan stated. "Dem knows more than he lets on."

"George." Lord Shilby nudged his grandson and nodded toward the rear of the crowd that had begun to gather for the fireworks.

"Ah." Shilby nodded at Tristan, bowed at Savannah, and walked away.

Savannah watched him. In a moment, the proud stance of a nobleman disappeared. Shilby had transformed into a hunter, all grace and focus as he slipped into the crowd, easily blending in. Savannah shook her head in awe at the change. This man was on the hunt.

"May I join you for supper?" Lord Shilby watched his grandson walk away for another moment, his face creased in worry and fear. In the next breath, he shook off whatever concern he carried and smiled airily at them. "My grandson has other business, I'm afraid."

"Perhaps you can tell us about Davon and Mooreland," Savannah offered, gesturing for their small group. "I'm most interested in the outcome."

"Miss Savannah, I'd be happy to." Shilby bowed in her direction, his eyes twinkling again. "If you'll regale me with news of your own?"

Savannah laughed. "However do you discover your information?"

Shilby merely smiled and walked toward her parents.

Savannah shook her head and rested her hand on Tristan's arm. He was hers and nothing could take that from her.

"I love you," Tristan whispered, stopping her several paces from the group. "Are you sure you don't want to elope?"

"The idea has more appeal with every passing moment." She grinned up at him as they walked for their group.

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